Tag Archives: cheating

Guest blog: I watched my girlfriend cheat, it was exhilarating

How do you define ‘cheating‘? As a general rule, I wouldn’t use the word ‘cheat’ for the consensual, deliciously hot scene our guest blogger describes today. But as you’ll see when you read his story, I liked his title – ‘I watched my girlfriend cheat’ – because it says a lot more about the way this intensely filthy story is framed in his head, and what it means to him beyond just being exhilarating. Please welcome Eric…

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Don’t fuck the priest: Fleabag and the art of longing

Damn right we’re gonna talk about Fleabag. This post contains spoilers, so catch up on Fleabag on iPlayer if you’d like to see it before you read on. But unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably already know that the audience of Fleabag is dripping lust into sofa cushions across the country, because we’re desperately willing her to fuck a priest.

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Spite fuck: fuck me while you beg for forgiveness

This is the next post in a series of erotic fiction about emotional fucks, where I’m having fun writing fictional characters who do filthy-hot things that may or may not be very ethical. This post involves a character fantasising about a spite fuck. Her fantasy involves things that – if they actually happened in real life – would certainly not be consensual. If that’s not your cup of tea, please don’t read on, but if you like sex stories that include twisted revenge and powerful anger, get stuck in.

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By the time my coffee is cold, he’ll have fucked her

Recently I have been trying to get to grips with the idea of sending my partner off to go and fuck other women while I wait alone at home, ideally wanking and finding the whole thing very sexy, at the very least feeling happy that he’s happy: a brief flash of compersion. It is not easy, but one of the ways I am trying to become acquainted with it is to write erotic stories about it. Here’s one of them.  (more…)

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The worst thing I could do (and it’s not cheating)

I used to have a fairly regular nightmare that went a little something like this:

Guy meets girl, guy starts shagging girl, girl and guy tangle together, sexily. Their limbs slide over each other, their hands grip flesh. His fingers dig hard into the crack of her arse, the way he does so gorgeously with me. They see me approach but they don’t care.

I’d dream about this quite frequently – a side-effect of an intensely jealous feeling. Part paranoia, part justified worry. He’d never actually do this, of course – not to the same degree. But in the dream it wasn’t the sex that bothered me so much as the openness of it. The fact that, when I approached the tangled, tousled couple, giggling and snogging and touching and worse – as I watched my fucking boyfriend fucking hard with someone else, he’d shrug and brush it off like his betrayal was nothing.

“Oh, didn’t you know? I’m with her now.”

They’d carry on, as I stood stunned and watching. Stuck in the moment, unable to escape until the second I woke up.

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